Beowulf's Ghost Read online

  ‘You can stay here until the storm passes if you like? Let me make some tea.’ The man scurried into the depths of the library without waiting for an answer.

  Adam sank into one of the armchairs and stared at the fire crackling in the hearth. Events had somewhat overtaken him; in the quiet of the library his thoughts turned back to Wooler Tarn.

  She wanted your help, and all you could do was run away.

  In the past year he’d been plagued with bad dreams, but never anything so intense, so real. Why had he run away? Was there something he should have done?

  Shame on you.

  But she’s dead. It can’t have been real, there was nothing I could do! Was there?

  You disgust me.

  ‘Ah! There you are, my dear boy.’ The old man appeared with a tray and busied himself at a table. He poured two cups of tea and offered one to Adam. ‘Forgive me for saying so,’ the librarian spooned sugar into his own cup and stirred it slowly, ‘but when I saw you in the forest you didn’t look very happy. Had you been crying?’

  ‘No!’ Adam said, taken aback.

  Liar.

  He took a sip of the tea, glad of the warmth. ‘I was thinking of my sister, that’s all,’ Adam said with some reluctance.

  ‘Oh dear,’ the librarian stopped stirring his cup, ‘did you have an argument? Tut. You can make up when you get home, no doubt.’

  Adam sniffed and swallowed hard; he didn’t want this conversation. He looked away and pulled out his phone and checked it – still no signal. ‘Look, thanks for the tea, but I really must be going.’

  The old man’s face dropped visibly. ‘But of course, my dear boy!’ He stood up and tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets, then added quietly, ‘All choices are yours and yours alone.’ He regarded Adam over the top of his glasses, his light blue eyes shining in the reflected firelight. ‘Before you go, as a thank you for your help, I would like you to take a book with you.’ He paused then added, ‘Your choice, any book.’

  Adam pulled himself out of the chair. ‘It’s okay, really, the tea was enough.’

  The librarian furrowed his brows and his face became serious. ‘If not for you, then maybe for your sister?’

  He sighed, waiting for Voice to say something clever, but it was silent. Adam was going to explain but then thought it was probably better to humour the old man and just take one. He wandered over to the nearest shelf. ‘Some of these look like they could be worth something. Are you sure?’

  The benign smile returned to the librarian. ‘What better use for books than to be given as gifts? After all, books have been known to change people’s lives.’ The man’s eyes twinkled.

  The library fell silent except for the crackle of the fire and the rumble of thunder. The musty smell of old leather and paper grew stronger; so many books, so many stories. He looked up to where the rows of books met the ceiling, and then in each direction where they disappeared into the gloom. He ran his fingers along the spines before settling on one at random. He pulled the book out, turning it in his hands. He flicked through the pages. They were blank, save for dark spots of mildew. ‘What is this?’ He held the book up to show the old man. ‘There’s nothing in it.’

  The librarian smiled. ‘My dear boy, far from it.’

  Adam had the feeling he was being played for a fool. A flush of irritation prickled his cheeks.

  ‘Look again,’ the old man said.

  Adam thumbed through the empty book until he reached the title page. There was one word on it, written in solid dark letters.

  BEOWULF

  Adam stared at the word, trying to make sense of it. ‘What is this? What is Beowulf?’

  ‘It is yours now. The story is yours.’

  ‘You mean the book is mine, not the story?’

  ‘But of course, my dear boy, that’s exactly what I mean.’ The small, sharp eyes twinkled again.

  ‘But there’s nothing in it?’

  The librarian pulled his waistcoat straight with a single tug. ‘Right. I must be going. I have things to do.’ With that he scurried away talking to himself and chuckling before disappearing into the depths of the library.

  Adam waited, unsure if the man was going to return, but after a few seconds he realised he was alone. The room was warm and he was rapidly becoming tired after the exertions of the day. He’d have another few minutes rest then leave, he thought, staring into the fire, which was burning low to a tumbled glow of red and orange. Sitting back in the chair, he thumbed through the blank pages of the book again, examining the one word on the title page. He turned the page and, to his surprise, he saw a picture he must have missed before.

  The picture was in colour, with streaks of deep greens and blues eddying and twisting across the page. Adam tried to find a pattern in the swirls of dark colour but couldn’t quite make one out. His eyes sharpened. Something moved in the middle of the picture. He stared at the spot near a blob of green and blinked, but there was nothing; maybe it was just a shadow or reflection.

  His eyelids drooped and his head nodded forward, tiredness creeping through his bones. A thought nagged him, tugging his mind away from sleep. It’s the sea, Adam thought; the picture is of a storm at sea. Where before he had just seen streaks of colour, he now knew they were towering waves, crested with foam. He even thought he could hear the wind, howling from a boiling sky.

  Then the familiar, unwanted dream unfolded. He floated deep in the water, the current caressing him, arms and legs suspended and weightless. Below was darkness, deep and vast. He held his breath and looked down. Something moved out of the gloom. It was Ellie. The ribbons in her hair and the long folds of her party dress moved in time with the swell. She drifted closer and held out a small hand, closing it tightly around his until it hurt.

  Her eyes turned black and worms burst out of the sockets, crawling over her face. The smile faded and an eel swam out of her mouth. Adam tried to get away, but her grip was too strong. She pulled him down into the blackness. A sharp pain beat in his chest; he needed to breathe. Something huge and long moved in the darkness beneath him. He struggled and flailed, but she pulled him deeper until the pain burst his mouth open and a stream of bubbles raced upwards.

  The dream-panic gripped Adam. It was always the same. The nightmare knew of his fear of water and played with him relentlessly. He kicked frantically, water filling his lungs. He gripped Ellie’s hand tighter, desperate to wake up.

  The long shape moved rapidly at the edge of his vision then disappeared.

  Ellie moved closer. She pressed dead lips onto his mouth and pushed air into his lungs. Adam blinked and when he looked again, Ellie had vanished. This wasn’t meant to happen; this wasn’t in the dream. She gave me air. But why would I need air in a dream? His skin puckered with a real cold that sucked the warmth from his body.

  The pale shape appeared again from the depths and swam swiftly upwards. It was a long, thick-bodied serpent. The mouth was open, ringed with rows of sharp teeth. It fastened its jaws around his leg, shaking and twisting before disappearing into the dark in a bloom of pink. Agonising pain exploded in his leg.

  It was real pain from a real bite.

  Chapter 3

  It was the coldest of storms, fierce waves boiling in the darkening night. The foe had Beowulf fast in its grim gripe and did drag him to the bottom of the sea…

  Beowulf

  Adam frantically kicked his legs, pushing himself up through the water, every fibre of his body screaming with fear. The tightness in his chest grew stronger, Ellie’s precious gift of air was running out. He looked down to see a trail of blood ribboning behind him.

  The serpent circled out of the gloom and darted again. Adam twisted sideways and the head brushed past him. He took his chance and grabbed its throat, the jaws opening in a circle of teeth around an eyeless head. With his lungs close to bursting, Adam squeezed w
ith all his strength until he felt something snap. The beast stopped moving and drifted away like a piece of seaweed. With a desperate horror Adam saw a dozen more serpents rising up from the blackness, twisting and darting around each other, following the trail of blood.

  With his last frantic breath he pushed and burst through the surface, gulping air deep into his lungs. Rain lashed the sea and waves crested, driven by a screaming gale from a dark, leaden sky. A bolt of lightning lit up a wooden boat, long and low in the water, the sides covered in round shields. The mast was snapped, its striped sail flapping uselessly across the stern.

  He grabbed a rope floating in the water and pulled himself to the side of the boat. A sharp pain cut his leg, then another. He thrashed and kicked, the serpents boiling the water around him. A wave crashed on top of Adam, smashing into the side of the boat. He spluttered and gagged, but for a moment the serpents’ attack was broken.

  The boat rose and fell in the swell. Above the noise of the storm he heard the distressed bleating of an animal. Adam took advantage of the respite and hauled himself over the side where a shield had been torn away. He fell into the flat bottom of the boat, floundering like a fish between rows of benches. Stumbling to his knees, he looked over the side of the boat. Several serpents raised their heads above the water, gills on their necks opening and closing, eager jaws wide with sharp teeth. Then, as if realising their prey had escaped, they slipped silently beneath the waves and disappeared.

  He quickly scanned the water for any sign of Ellie but knew it was impossible. Huddling beneath a seat to get as far away from the water as he could, he tried to make sense of what had happened under the sea with Ellie. But the thought was ridiculous; none of this made sense. Rain fell in sheets and each time the boat rocked Adam thought he would be thrown over the side and fresh panic pulsed through his body.

  Another flash of lightning showed there was no-one else in the boat, except for a huge billy goat near the prow with a rope tied around its neck. Every time the boat pitched, the goat was thrown against the deck, water dripping from its huge curving horns and long beard. It bleated horribly; eyes bulging as it thrashed and strained against the rope. Another wave crashed over the side, knocking the goat to the floor, the rope tightening like a noose around its neck.

  Adam sat tighter into his corner, arms wrapped round the plank that was a seat, grateful of the little safety it afforded him. The goat bleated, more feebly this time; its strength was failing. Spray drenched the goat, soaking the thick fur. Struggling to its feet, it breathed hard, head lowered with exhaustion.

  Adam gripped the plank, knuckles white. He shook uncontrollably and swallowed hard. Keeping as low as he could to the bottom of the boat, he crawled over to the goat. He reached for the rope around the animal’s neck, but it bared its teeth and lunged for him. Adam cursed and waited for the boat to steady between waves then grabbed the end tied to an iron ring set in the prow. He worked the knot until his fingers bled then pulled it free. A wave crashed over the boat. When he looked up, the goat was gone.

  The boat rocked violently; he lost his grip and fell backwards. His head struck a seat and everything went black.

  Adam was vaguely aware of daylight but didn’t want to get up. A screeching in the sky sounded familiar but out of place. Stranger still was the smell; salt-heavy air and a dampness like wet towels. He went to roll over but was met with a sharp pain in his side.

  Yelping, he opened his eyes. He was lying in the bottom of a boat covered by a striped sail. He pushed away an oar digging into him and crawled forward, pulling the sail back.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘This isn’t happening.’ He was in the long wooden ship from the night before. On either side of a gangway were planks for seats. Oars, some intact, many splintered and broken, lay along the boat’s length. The stump of the mast was tangled with ropes, dragging part of the sail in the water. A freezing wind snapped at his body, chilling him instantly. Adam looked at the prow of the boat, where a carved animal’s head reached up to the sky, mouth open. It was unmistakeable, just like the pictures in his schoolbooks. ‘I’m on a longship!’

  He had to be dreaming. But judging by the cold and the fear he felt when looking at the water, it was a very real dream. He’d left Wooler Tarn, found the library with that strange little man, who had given him a book, and had fallen asleep. Except this didn’t feel like being asleep. This had to be because he’d seen Ellie in the tarn.

  Bravo. Give the boy a prize. Your sister wanted help and you ran away, Voice said.

  ‘You shouldn’t be in my dreams,’ Adam said.

  Who said it was a dream…?

  Seagulls wheeled above him in a sky heavy with clouds, calling with mocking laughter. He rubbed his arms, trying to get them warm and stumbled over a rope. Pain erupted through his legs. His sweatshirt was tattered, but his jeans were in shreds. Blood oozed from several round cuts on his legs, as if a cookie-cutter had been twisted into his flesh. One on his thigh was particularly deep. He gingerly touched the redness and winced. Seawater had cleaned it up somewhat, but it still oozed blood.

  But that also meant something else. The sea serpents hadn’t been a dream! He was in too much pain, was too cold. Voice was right; this was real. He peered at the sea anxiously. As long as the water stayed over there and he stayed in the boat that would suit him just fine. A gull swooped and settled on the stump of the mast, eyeing him with distrust.

  ‘This has to be a trick.’ He tried to rationalise. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in the library. Had he sleepwalked out of the old house and been hit by a car? Would that explain his cuts? His brain tried to work out a scenario where he could wake up on a replica longboat, but it didn’t come easy.

  The stinging from his thigh was getting worse, and his damp clothes were freezing. He shivered, blew into his hands and did a circle of the horizon. Shading his eyes, he saw land. He hadn’t noticed it before with the swell of the sea. He raised his head into the air; the wind was blowing from behind, so with any luck he would drift towards the shore.

  He set about searching the boat. The storm had certainly done its worst; what was left was really just a shell of the boat. He wished the goat was still here so at least he had company. Many of the shields had been ripped away from the sides, and the gangway was littered with broken spars and ropes. He came across metal helmets, a couple of swords and quite a few spears and knives. ‘A film set.’ He said it aloud to convince himself and make it real. ‘I’m on a film set.’ He looked up in vain, hoping to see a helicopter, trying to figure out what kind of elaborate hoax someone would have to play to make this work. But why?

  At the back of the boat he made his first proper find. There was a large storage locker built into the stern. It smelled of butcher’s shops and musty clothes. It took a few minutes to pull everything out onto the deck. There were clothes, some water – which he drank gratefully – and a crate filled with pieces of dried meat that made him gag. No radiophone, no distress flares, no map. He’d hoped to find a medical kit to help with his thigh. The stinging was getting worse and the edges of the deepest cut were turning yellow. The wind gusted with a chill cutting him to the bone. He stripped off his own rags and decided to put on some of the dry clothes, however strange they looked. The gull flew up from the mast, circled a few times, then laughed its way back out to sea.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, pulling a great black animal fur around his shoulders. He was now dressed in a thick woollen shirt that came down to his knees, with a leather belt pulled tight at the waist. The belt had a knife in a scabbard; he wasn’t sure about the knife, but then again, he wasn’t sure about any of this. He felt much warmer almost immediately, the bearskin – that’s what he guessed it was – easily keeping the icy wind away.

  Something glinted in the prow of the boat, half-hidden by a broken oar. Pushing it with his toe, he picked up a metal pendant on a heavy silver chain. On th
e face of the disc was engraved the head of a bear in profile, jaws wide. He cleaned away dark crusty marks that looked ominously like blood. It looked valuable. He searched for a pocket but couldn’t find one, so he slipped it around his neck for safekeeping, folding it beneath the bearskin.

  He’d been so busy sorting the locker and putting on the clothes that he hadn’t realised the boat was drifting much closer to the shore. ‘Yes!’ he shouted with elation, punching the air.

  At the far end of a sandy beach was the massive rock of Bamburgh, hidden from view earlier by the low cloud and heavy sea swell. Away to the right was Lindisfarne, cut off from the mainland by the high tide. Dropping his head, he breathed slowly. Whatever had happened, it was okay. He was home. The thought of being back in his room, warm and dry and under his duvet, felt sweet.

  He furrowed his brow. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t see Lindisfarne castle, usually so prominent. Instead he saw the headland covered in dome-like structures that looked like beehives the size of houses. He swivelled round to look again at Bamburgh, squeezing his eyes in case they were salted up. The huge castle that normally dominated the top of the rock wasn’t there! He strained his eyes and instead of the stone walls all he could make out was a wooden palisade circling the top of the rock.

  He scratched his head and pulled the bearskin tighter. Was it possible that he’d never seen things from this angle before? He’d been out in boats many times and never noticed any difference. The pull of the tide and the gusting of the wind pushed the boat faster until it was almost on the shore.

  At the foot of the sand dunes that stretched away in either direction, a lonely figure stood watching him. His mouth fell open. Wrapped in strange clothes and a cloak flapping in the wind, but with those unmistakeable features, was the one person he thought he’d lost forever.

  It was Ellie.

  Chapter 4

  Then, like a bird, the foam-necked ship was driven by the wind until land was seen; the sea cliffs and wide promontories. The boat was drawn upon the beach and quickly they stepped out onto the sand.